Verse In Life
by Ivy3
Summary: This is a short, one chapter fic about Peter, guilt tripping and an unexpected help when he needs it. I suck at summaries, but I liked it!


'…That you are here- that life exists, and identity;  
  
That the powerful play goes on, and you will contribute a verse.' –O Me! O Life!  
  
'But only in their dreams can men be truly free  
  
It was always thus and always thus will be.' - Keating  
  
  
  
A VERSE IN LIFE  
  
  
  
Peter stormed down a corner and continued his pursuit. The man was fast, but Peter was not about to let this bastard get away. He pushed his muscles to their limit and slowly closed the gap. This SOB,  
  
Clarence Asters, was about to be slapped with bank rubbery and murder and Peter would be damned if he wasn't going to be the one slapping. This piece of shit (he wouldn't give him the dignity of his name) rubbed a bank, and when the cops nearly had him and his gang he started killing hostages. The others were caught, but this weasel was fast. Peter wondered momentarily to himself how long will it take him to run out of adjectives for this garbage, but pushed the thought aside. Now wasn't the time.  
  
'Just a little more', he thought to himself as he saw Clarence dead ahead. 'Your ass is mine…'  
  
It was at that moment that Clarence turned back and saw the pissed off cop on his trail. "Shit!" He said articulately and ran faster. But Peter knew he was tiring and it was just a matter of time before Peter got him. Apparently Clarence knew this as well, for he looked frantically for anything to save him, before noting a pedestrian, just leaving the library. He grabbed her roughly around the throat with one arm and kept the one with a gun fixed on Peter.  
  
"One move and I swear to God I'll blow her brains out!" Clarence yelled, like a cornered animal.  
  
"Didn't your mother ever teach you it's not nice to swear?" Peter asked agitated, but kept his distance. "Let her go."  
  
"Fat chance!" Clarence shouted, flinging the girl from side to side to scare off any other uninvited cop. The girl seemed to be in a state of shock. She was not sobbing or crying, just standing there, wide-eyed and waiting. She had long brown hair and her dark eyes seemed even darker. She was probably not  
  
older than seventeen, in Peter's mind and shouldn't be messed up with this dirtball.  
  
"Look, let's take it easy, alright?" Peter said evenly, extending his arms, trying to look friendly.  
  
"Hey, I'm cool *pal*" Clarence answered. "What about you sweet thing?" He whispered in the girl's ear, causing her to shiver. "Are you *cool*?"  
  
"Come on, you're scaring the girl!" Peter protested angrily. "Look, just let her go and you can have me, ok?"  
  
"Put the gun down, then we talk!" Clarence yelled, backing a step away. Peter did as was told and slowly placed the gun on the ground.  
  
"Now kick it to me!"  
  
Peter kicked the gun over and swallowed a lump in his throat. "Happy now?"  
  
"Ecstatic!" Clarence said sarcastically as he picked the gun up and placed it in his pocket.  
  
"Now will you let the girl go?" Peter asked hopefully.  
  
"Now why would I do that?" Clarence asked, feigning shock. "We were just starting to get to know each other."  
  
"She's just a kid! A cop would be worth so much more, wouldn't he?" Peter tried to reason with the man, though he hated his guts.  
  
"Yes, but a cop AND a girl?" Clarence laughed. "You're both my ticket out of here!"  
  
It was at that moment that the rest of the force arrived. Clarence quickly tightened his hold on the girl and wavered the gun from one target to another.  
  
"Give her up Clarence!" Paul Blaisdell said dangerously, as he aimed his own weapon on the man.  
  
Clarence stood there several more minutes, trying to get them all into his line of fire. Finally he decided it would be best to simply aim at the girl. He was momentarily blinded by something shining before he felt it; he died nearly instantly, barely having enough time to react or to comprehend what happened. But by some fluke of a spasm his finger pulled the trigger, sending another echo of a shot into the suffocating air. He fell dead where he stood, the bullet hole decorating his forehead, the courtesy of a roof sniper. His body lay still and for the longest moment no one drew a single breath. A sudden gasp was heard and a moment later the girl fell over, a large red stain adorning her midsection.  
  
"Call the paramedics!" Peter shouted at Skalany, as he ran over to the girl, trying to stop her bleeding.  
  
"Don't you die on me", he said, covering her wound with his hands. "Please don't die on me now."  
  
***  
  
"Detectives?"  
  
Peter stirred quickly in the waiting room and jumped to his feet. Paul Blaisdell slowly stood as well and Mary Margaret simply looked up.  
  
"How is she?" Peter asked worriedly. He has been waiting in the waiting room for several hours, refusing to go home or to rest. He now turned hopeful hazel eyes to the surgeon in charge, wishing against hope that the news was good.  
  
"As you know she was injured pretty badly, the bullet managed to pierce one of her lungs and cause severe damage-"  
  
"I don't care about to doctor talk I asked 'how is she?!'" Peter nearly yelled and felt Paul's comforting hand on his shoulder, willing him to calm down.  
  
"Well, as I said, the injury was quite severe", the doctor went on, hesitantly, playing with his hands nervously. "We did all we could possibly do for your friend, but I'm afraid we could not save her life."  
  
"No", Peter said, disbelief registering in every fiber of his being. "No!"  
  
"I'm afraid so", the doctor went on sadly. "Is there anyone we can call? Any family?"  
  
"I'll find out", Paul said sighing. "Peter, let's go."  
  
Peter did not respond, simply stood there wobbly.  
  
"Peter?" Mary Margaret asked concerned. "Is everything ok?"  
  
When he did not respond Paul went over to his foster son just as he collapsed into his arms.  
  
"Peter!" He cried as the doctor rushed to his side and ordered him into a room. They laid his  
  
unconscious body on the bed as the doctor examined him.  
  
*****  
  
"Peter?"  
  
Peter woke from his reverie and glanced at his father's caring face.  
  
"Pop? What are you doing here?" He asked confused.  
  
"I have come to see you", Kwai Chang Caine said guardedly. "Are you well?"  
  
"Never been better" Peter stated, returning to his workload. "I'm kinda busy pop, so if there's anything you want…"  
  
"Can't a father come visit his son in his place of work?" Caine asked seriously.  
  
"Of course you can and it's not that I don't love your visits, but I'm tied up now." Peter said, motioning at the many files scattered across his desk. "So if you don't mind-"  
  
"When was the last time you ate?" Caine asked suddenly.  
  
"Huh? I grabbed something for breakfast, look pop-"  
  
"It has been a long time since breakfast. When was the last time you slept?"  
  
"Look, I slept last night, really pop-"  
  
"I mean a nightmare free sleep", Caine said quietly.  
  
Peter paused and bit his lower lip. "I got things to do."  
  
"Yes, it appears that you always do", Caine remarked dryly. "One must wonder how you accomplish so much work in so little time."  
  
"Look, I'm a cop, alright? I'm doing my job." Peter said angrily, jumping to his feet.  
  
"We are all worried about you, my son", Caine said painfully. "We noticed you do not rest nor eat and we are concerned."  
  
"We?" Peter asked agitated.  
  
"Your father, your partners, Kermit and myself", Caine stated. "We have all noticed your behavior recently."  
  
"Recently?" Peter asked laughing mirthlessly. "Why don't you just go out and say it? You think I haven't been myself for the past 2 weeks, since that incident" Peter had to gulp down the pain brought up from the mere mentioning of the event.  
  
"Peter, you cannot keep this up", Caine shook his head. "You will be ill."  
  
"Why don't you stop treating me like a baby, *father*?" Peter asked raising his voice. "Perhaps you haven't noticed because you've been gone all these years, but Peter big boy now."  
  
"I simply wish to help you get through this", Caine said tearfully, choking back a sob as his son stabbed his heart with words.  
  
"Well don't. I can take care of myself! Why don't you all stop running MY life and concentrate on your own?" Peter snapped and turned to leave. He apparently turned too quickly, for he felt woozy and came crashing to the ground.  
  
"Peter!" Caine rushed over to him, as several others dashed to the fallen cop.  
  
Peter heard some muffled voices before his world was enveloped by utter darkness.  
  
******  
  
"Will he be alright?" Caine asked the doctor, as he stood by his son's bed.  
  
"Should be", the doctor said frowning. "He's malnourished and that's why he passed out. We're he feeding him vitamins and foods through the I.V and within a few days he should be fine."  
  
"When will he wake up?" Paul asked hopefully, stroking Peter's hair amiably.  
  
"Now that's the thing", the doctor seemed to squirm. "He should have been up by now."  
  
"What?" Paul asked, staring at her squarely. "Then what the hell is wrong?"  
  
"My guess? Some people that suffered a trauma have a tendency to recess into their own minds." She said as placidly as possible.  
  
"Well can't you get him out?" Paul asked desperately, glancing at the lovely form of his sleeping son.  
  
"We can't get inside his brain and yank him out", she said, beginning to grow indignant. "He has to come out of it on his own."  
  
"May I", Caine said faltering. "Stay with him?"  
  
The doctor sighed deeply. "I wish I could say yes, but hospital regulations say you can only come tomorrow at best. He needs observation, these first few hours are critical."  
  
"You don't understand, this man, he can do things", Paul said, shaking his head. "He can bring him back!"  
  
The doctor looked at his skeptically and shook her head. "I'm sorry, but the rules are very strict. The best I can offer you is first thing in the morning."  
  
"Thank you", Caine said bowing, gazing one last time at his son. "I will be near, my son", he whispered in his ear, as he bent over to kiss him. "Always." The three left Peter's room and turned to the waiting room, where the rest of Peter's friends stood waiting.  
  
The moment they left a certain ray of light escaped the curtained window and landed on Peter, serving as some holy image to any onlooker. Peter's eyes danced under his lids and the fight for survival began.  
  
************  
  
"Paul? Pop?" Peter asked hollowly as he walked through the white room. "Hello? Is anyone here? Where am I?"  
  
He turned around himself, searching for a hidden menace or shadow.  
  
"My guess? You're in a white room."  
  
Peter whirled around and nearly lost his footing. "How-?" He asked shocked, as he peered into the youthful face of the dead girl from the incident.  
  
"How? How did you get here? How did I get here? How did you lost the ability to speak?" She asked him sarcastically and smiled. "Beats me."  
  
"You're dead," Peter said lamely, trying to find some reason in this maddening chaos.  
  
"Very observant of you Petey-boy", she laughed. "No wonder you made it to a detective!"  
  
"Where am I? Is this a dream?" He asked confused. The girl seemed perplexed.  
  
"Actually? I'm not quite sure. If this is a dream then I have no idea how I got here."  
  
"How did you know my name?" Peter asked frightened. "I probably made you up in my head, this has got to be one of those dreams…" He trailed off, running his hand nervously through his hair. "Just a bad dream, soon I'm gonna wake up…"  
  
"Yeah? If you made me up then that means I'd know only what you know about me", she said, confused at her own reasoning. "So how come I know my name? I never told it to you. As a matter of fact I never even talked to you!" She said deep in thought. "You shouldn't even know what my voice sounds like!"  
  
"I know your name because I contacted your parents", Peter said. "Emily Davidson. As for your voice, I probably made it up."  
  
Emily looked horrified. "You told my parents? How did they take it?"  
  
Peter didn't even think it might be odd talking to a figment of you imagination, so he answered her. "Pretty ok, all things considered. They seem to be stable."  
  
Emily snorted malevolently and smiled at Peter. "Here's a news' flash you DIDN'T know, my parents don't give a shit about me."  
  
"Your mom burst into tears and had to leave the living-room!" Peter said annoyed. "And shouldn't you  
  
know that, if you're made up? Or am I creating you dumb?"  
  
"For your information my mom already pulled that crying stunt before" Emily said heatedly. "And don't call me names! I don't care if you made me up or not, all I know is that I'm real to me at least!"  
  
"What do you mean 'that crying stunt'?" Peter asked confused. "When?"  
  
"When you leave Oz and go back to Kansas, Toto, go and check my police file." Emily said darkly. "You'll find something interesting there."  
  
"You have a police file?" Peter asked, frowning. Why on earth would he dream her with that?  
  
"Wait and see Petey," Emily said, laughing coldly. "But I'm telling you now, what it says that I complained about was true, I didn't make it up."  
  
"What are you talking about?" Peter asked confused.  
  
"I went to the cops to file a report about someone", Emily said earnestly. "I testified under oath, but my parents back-stabbed me and testified that I'm a loon and that I made it all up." She turned her eyes to him coldly. "My mom started crying on the stand, saying she doesn't know where all these lies came from and that maybe it was because she was a bad mother. The sprinklers worked and I was sent to the funny farm for a year. But I swear I didn't make it up!" She said desperately as she looked hopefully at Peter. "Maybe that's why I'm here, to let the truth out."  
  
"This is too much", Peter said shaking his head and he turned his back on her. "I'm out of here."  
  
"Oh yeah?" Emily asked with an edge, walking over to Peter. "Then why are you still here? Why haven't you vanished and woken up?" Her eyes suddenly grew sympathetic. "You haven't had much rest since my death, have you?"  
  
"I can't believe I'm having this conversation!" Peter laughed nervously.  
  
"I don't see why you're beating yourself up about it," she said thinking. "I mean it's not like it's you " fault. Peter winced visibly and Emily scrutinized him thoroughly.  
  
"You blame yourself don't you?"  
  
"Look, kid I'm not getting into this with-"  
  
"Why do you feel guilty? It's not like you could do anything about it", Emily went on.  
  
"It doesn't matter what you say I still-"  
  
"But I forgive you, so why can't you just let it go? Are you some masochist? Do you enjoy suffering or something?" Emily was curious.  
  
"Will you stop interrupting me?" Peter asked aggravated.  
  
"Why? It's not like you're saying anything important besides some self pity crap" Emily shrugged.  
  
"Look, it doesn't matter if you forgive me or not, because, and please don't be offended by this, YOU'RE NOT REAL!" He screamed at her.  
  
"Stop saying that!" Emily said crying. "I know I'm dead, alright? I remember the sensation as the bullet pierced my skin, I remember being engulfed by darkness, somewhere inside I know this isn't real, but damnit it FEELS real!" She seemed in total despair. "I don't know what to think or feel, or if it's even me doing the feeling and thinking. This is so creepy and I don't know what's real anymore!" Tears were brimming in her eyes. "I'm so messed up! The only thing I know is that I *feel* here and I *feel* that there's some purpose, but maybe that's just wishful thinking."  
  
"Look, I'm sorry, alright?" Peter said sighing, as he sat down in a corner. "I'm just as confused as you are."  
  
"At least you know you're real", Emily shot back, sliding down the opposite wall. "You don't live in eternal doubt."  
  
There was an infinite moment of silence between them as they each dwelt in their own thoughts.  
  
Finally Emily broke the silence.  
  
"Care to tell me why you're in this self-destruct mode?"  
  
Peter groaned and was about to protest when she beat him to it.  
  
"Maybe we're here because you're in this 'I'm guilty for every wrong' mood and it's eating you up inside." She reasoned. "Solving it might be our only ticket out of here."  
  
Peter sighed inwardly and scratched his hair. "It's just… I feel like there was something I could have done, you know?"  
  
"Well unless you're super man I highly doubt it," Emily chuckled. "You're just a cop Pete, nothing more, nothing less."  
  
"Then why do I feel like I failed? Like it's my fault?" He stared intently at his hands.  
  
"Because, you're such a sweet guy", Emily smiled. "I don't know you so well, but I can tell you take things to heart. You're not one of those cops that pass by a corpse in the street and say Que Cera Cera; you stand there thinking how you could have prevented it from happening. Which is a good characteristic, but it will eventually catch up to you. Can't you see you're not responsible for every bad thing in the world?"  
  
"But I just feel like I could have done something", Peter grunted. Lifting his eyes to meet hers.  
  
"I know you do, but you gotta get over it, because IT AIN'T YOUR FREAKING FAULT!" Emily yelled, surprising Peter and herself. "It isn't, ok? That maniac killed me, not you!"  
  
"Maybe I could have stopped him," Peter said berating himself.  
  
"How on earth were you supposed to accomplish that?" Emily asked cynically. "Freeze the bullet in midair?"  
  
"I know it sounds absurd, but I can't help but feeling this way." Peter admitted.  
  
"Well you gotta accept these feelings and learn how to move on without carrying this burden." Emily said seriously. She edged closer to him and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. "I can't forgive you for something you didn't do. I don't blame you and neither does anyone else, save for you. So you have to let it go Peter. NOW!" Emily smiled at him warmly and hugged him briefly.  
  
"You're right", Peter said.  
  
"Does that mean you'll do it?" Emily raised an eyebrow.  
  
"I'm not sure, but I'll give it a try", Peter smiled jokingly.  
  
Emily rolled her eyes. "Great, well I think we're done here. How do we get out?"  
  
Peter heard noises and sounds coming from far away.  
  
"The real world is calling you, Dorothy" Emily said sadly. "I guess this is goodbye."  
  
Emily got this distant look in her eyes and Peter looked at her worried.  
  
"Emily?" He asked her, trying to see what it was she was looking at.  
  
"I see a light." Emily said smiling. She suddenly turned on Peter scared. "Do you believe in the after life?"  
  
"What?" Peter asked off guard.  
  
"Do you believe in God? Do you believe in Heaven? Do you believe in the after life?" Emily said gulping.  
  
"I'm not sure", Peter admitted.  
  
"Well I guess I'm about to find out", Emily smiled nervously. "Tell you what, if there is an after life, I'll try and send you a sign."  
  
"You'll put up a billboard 'there's an after life'?" Peter asked smiling ruefully.  
  
"No, let me think… If there is life after death, I'll… I'll send you a carriage with white horses with a black stripe over their noses." Emily said hurriedly, glancing ahead all the time.  
  
Peter gave her a queer look and she rolled her eyes. "Ok, I was just trying to make them special, alright? And the carriage will take you home." The moment she finished the sentence she was devoured by bright scintillates and was gone.  
  
'Goodbye Peter' Her voice echoed in his mind as he felt himself floating away, swirling upwards all the time.  
  
1 'Goodbye'  
  
*  
  
"He's coming to it!" Doctor Soiree said from where she was sitting. "Quick, call his family!"  
  
Peter heard the voice as his eyes opened and he began to grasp at consciousness. "Where-?" He asked hoarsely.  
  
"Shh, don't try and talk", Doctor Soiree said pleasantly. "You've had a rough few hours, we thought you'd never come to it."  
  
"Head… Hurts…" Peter tried to form coherent thought, but found the task difficult.  
  
"You have to rest, now that you're out of the woods you need to gather strength", she said as a nurse came and gave him a shot. Within moments Peter was back asleep, only this time he didn't dream, but instead slept restfully and peacefully.  
  
****  
  
Peter Caine was walking home from the district after a long shift. It was about a month since that weird dream and he was back on full duty, to Paul's dismay. Once he was back at the station he had Kermit pull out Emily Davidson's file from the computer and to his shock discovered that she filed a report against a minister in her church for sexual abuse. During the trial her parents testified against her and she ended up being sent to an institution for the mental. He was shivering not only from the cold and yearned to be in the comfort of his blanket, he was so tired. He failed to notice a vehicle coming from behind him until a voice stopped him:  
  
"You there!"  
  
Peter turned to face the man. He was sitting on a bench in one of those rental carriages for a block or two.  
  
"Me?" Peter asked skeptically.  
  
"Are you Peter Caine?" He asked, looking at a photo in his hand.  
  
"Yeah, who's asking?" Peter asked, crossing his arms suspiciously.  
  
"I got an order to take a Mr. Peter Caine-" he showed him his picture. "- For a ride. Paid in advance."  
  
Peter scratched his head deep in thought. "Who would-?" He then noticed the intriguing appearance of  
  
the horses. They were as snow as white, besides a black line above their nose. Peter's eyes opened wide as he remembered what Emily promised.  
  
"Who paid you? Can you describe them? When did they pay you?" Peter had so many questions and so little answers.  
  
"A young lass, around 17 I think, just a few hours ago she told me to wait in this street at this time. She said you'd be waiting here for the lift."  
  
"Does she look anything like this", Peter asked as he retrieved a picture of Emily from a newspaper cutting.  
  
"Yup, that's the girl." The driver agreed. "Friendly young girl too, very lively."  
  
Peter nearly choked. 'This can't be…'  
  
"Well are ya planning on getting in or standing there all night?" The driver asked. "It's getting mighty cold out here."  
  
Peter stepped into the carriage still in a state of daze. The carriage started to move and Peter remembered an important detail.  
  
"Wait! I didn't tell you where you're heading!" Peter said, shaking the impossible thoughts away.  
  
"'Tis all right", the driver said from the front. "The lass already gave me the directions. I'm taking you home."  
  
-THE END- 


End file.
